“You’re saying her mother is forcing Sheri Jean to be the Librarian.” He pulled a long, disbelieving face.
“Not at all. I’m saying Bo Fang crushed her dreams, and a woman without dreams has no hope or joy.”
“The old lady’s name is Bo Fang?”
“Appropriately.” She laughed at his reaction. “Sheri Jean told me that Fang means fragrant, but I wasn’t sure she was serious.” She slid her spoon into the thick cheesy dish, over and over, filling the empty spaces in her belly.
In a goaded tone, he asked, “Do you mind if I try a bite of your mac and cheese?”
“Do you know how to get it out of the oven by yourself?”
His eyes narrowed on her. “I may be a Brooks, but I assure you, I have a Bo Fang in my background. My grandmother Mrs. Judith Irene Brooks does not tolerate idle hands.”
She had rather enjoyed provoking him, and her one-shoulder shrug was the polished epitome of indifference. “Help yourself.”
He came around the counter and into the kitchen.
She scooted until her back was against the wall. Tonight she might feel more at ease, but she didn’t intend to discover she was wrong about him.
Of course, he observed her maneuver, and those glorious brown eyes snapped in irritation. “You don’t like lobster?”
“I don’t like anything from Maine.” TMI. She needed to be careful about that; he’d already proved himself able to dig through her past. When he seated himself with his own bowl and spoon, she continued, “Sheri Jean is the youngest daughter. According to Bo Fang, the youngest daughter’s duty is to stay close to her mother and care for her into her old age. She sent Sheri Jean to a private high school in Massachusetts, where Sheri Jean excelled and was accepted to an Ivy League college. Bo Fang wouldn’t let her go there—or anywhere. She made her come home and learn the truck farm business.”
“Sheri Jean didn’t go to college? Because of her mother?”
“That’s right.”
“She could have defied her mother.”
“She did. She married the most inappropriate man… From all accounts, Dirk Hagerty was a lazy, cheating gigolo, and it cost Bo Fang dearly to get rid of him.”
“Which put Sheri Jean in debt to her mother.” He took his first bite. “You’re right. This is wonderful. The chefs here are gifted.”
“The crabs here are pretty gifted, too.” She watched him eat again and wondered where he stashed all those calories. “My last point—Sheri Jean was born on this coast. She knows every inch of it. Whoever is in charge of this smuggling operation is intelligent, and Sheri Jean is smarter than the rest of us put together.”
“You’re pretty smart yourself. She wasn’t even on my list.”
“That’s why you picked me to help you, isn’t it?”
“Your military records indicate you have a gift for situational analysis.”
“Right.” Had Nils discovered the real reason she was medically discharged? If he had, he didn’t care much, and that gave her some insight into his character. Not a flattering insight, either. And what was with that request for a kiss? “I thought you were involved with Jessica Diaz.”
“We were friends. Old friends, good friends. Friends with common goals.”
“Hmm.” If that was true, that made his appeal a little less offensive.
Damn him. Why had he introduced the man/woman thing into this mess? Sex was for people who had a future, who could remember all the days of their lives and could live without looking over their shoulder wondering what was sneaking up behind them…and what they had done.
Her appetite vanished. She took her bowls and placed them in his sink, ran some water and left them. Let the bastard load his own miniature dishwasher. She said, “The problem is—I can make a list all day long and my suppositions carry the highest percentages of being correct. Commanders tend to command, and thus I listed the resort’s department heads. But while we can play the percentages, we have to face the fact the Librarian could be a resident of Cape Charade. It could be one of the housekeeping staff. The people I have on the leader list could be the assistant and vice versa. And how many people does the Librarian have on the payroll?”
“I figure to make an operation of this size work—ten to twenty?”
“There you go. I don’t know how you’re going to make this sleuthing work.”
He finished his mac and cheese and pushed the bowl away. “In the autumn, a collection of illegally seized South American tomb art went astray.”
“About the time Priscilla went astray?”
“Exactly at that time.” He pulled out his tablet and passed it over.
Kellen flipped through the tomb art photos. A stone tablet covered in hieroglyphs, stone statues of angry, broad-cheeked faces, a carving of a woman’s naked pregnant body and the pièce de résistance, a red stone figure of a man squatting on his haunches with an enormous and well-polished penis protruding from between his legs. “Eye-catching,” she said drily and passed the tablet back.
“The private collector paid a lot of money to own those artifacts, and the knowledge of his displeasure spread throughout the art world. It’s said he demanded a refund and was told some version of ‘Ya pays yer money, ya takes yer chances.’”
“I’ll bet that went down well.”
“Wealthy people don’t take being swindled with any amount of grace. Word spread that the Librarian is losing his grip.”
“Who spread that word?”
“I may have helped.” He twirled his imaginary mustache. “But I didn’t start it. I want to find the Librarian, get him off the streets, dismantle the operation from the inside. It’s important to me.”
“Revenge for Jessica?”
“Yes, and a fulfillment of our mission.”
Kellen nodded.
“The Librarian created this very profitable operation, but you must know everyone would like to step into the Librarian’s shoes. He has to deliver Central American tomb art to this collector or be discredited. So—four days ago, another tomb was looted. Two archaeologists were shot. One died.”
“You think the artifacts are coming here?”
“Yes, and the Librarian can’t afford for anything to go wrong this time.”
Kellen thought about Mr. Gilfilen, lurking in the dark outside in camouflage, watching and waiting for his chance to break open the smuggling ring. If Nils Brooks was correct, Mr. Gilfilen faced a danger he could not imagine. How could she tell him without revealing what she knew about Nils Brooks and his operation?
She sagged. Was she ever going to enjoy another full night’s sleep?
Nils leaned over the counter. “Priscilla Carter was somehow involved in the theft of those artifacts. They haven’t resurfaced. Do you have any idea where she might have hidden them?”
“I didn’t know Priscilla. I wasn’t here when she was alive. Everyone who knew her tells me she wasn’t very smart and she wasn’t particularly principled. Assuming my information is correct, she might have taken the art, one assumes because she recognized the potential for profit, and she could have stashed it anywhere. The resort is huge and old, riddled with closets, storage, even some secret passageways.”
“I know it’s difficult, but—”
“But perhaps she didn’t realize its worth, or she wanted revenge on the Librarian and put it in the garbage.”
He put his hand on his chest as if his heart hurt. “Why would she want revenge?”
“If she was romantically involved with the Librarian and discovered he—or she—was using her as camouflage… A woman scorned, Mr. Brooks. You may never recover that tomb art. You may never uncover the Librarian.”
She was quite enjoying Nils’s horror, when out of the corners of her eyes, she saw something move outside the window. Someone was looking in.
Slowly, heart thumping, she turned to face the intruder.
Her husband, Gregory, was there, looking in. Dead and looking at her, a soft green light on his evil face.
24
Kellen gasped and slammed her back against the wall.
“What?” Nils swiveled around.
Gregory had vanished.